


Come With Me

by Crimson_Voltaire



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Child Abuse, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mary Lou Barebone is Her Own Warning, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Possibly Unrequited Love, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 20:58:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11112756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimson_Voltaire/pseuds/Crimson_Voltaire
Summary: Come away, oh human child, to the waters and the wild, for the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.- Yeats





	Come With Me

**Author's Note:**

> Credence, in canon, is actually an adult. His page puts him at somewhere around 21. But the movie offers little in the way of an explanation for why he doesn't leave, nor much about Credence's relationship with the Original Graves. So, I took liberties. 
> 
> This hasn't been edited by anyone other than myself.

"Come with me," Mr. Graves says, voice high and tight and urgent.   
  
He's holding his hands to Credence's cheeks, pleading between whispered Latin and what Credence thinks might be old Gaelic. The lacerations on Credence's cheek and jaw are slowly sealing themselves, flesh knitting back together, blood vessels healing and bruises fading. Credence can feel it all, and the way the callouses on Mr. Graves' fingertips brush against his skin. He leans into the touch, savours what he has not really had since he was a small child.   
  
"Credence, please, come with me. I can take you away from this, I can find somewhere safe for you."   
  
Credence closes his eyes, remains leaning into that embrace, inhales Mr. Graves' cologne and the subtle smell of the man himself hiding beneath gentle, expensive scents and aftershave. _I can find somewhere safe for you_.   
  
"You wouldn't... You wouldn't take me with you."   
  
_All I want to do is be with you_.   
  
Credence opens his eyes at the way Mr. Graves sighs, feels the man's ribs expand and lift up against his own before falling again, clattering against Mr. Graves' spine. His eyes are deep and dark and sad and it makes the shame brewing in Credence's belly burn a little brighter. He bites his lip, willing down the tears as Mr. Graves shakes his head.   
  
"I can't, Credence. I wish I could, I truly do but I can't. It's the law."  
  
_It's the law. It's the law_.   
  
"But you're breaking the law right now."   
  
There's a razor thin edge of defiance in his tone. Credence winces, when it rings in his own ears. Ma would surely beat him black and blue, would make sure it hurt so bad that tone left his mouth and never crossed the threshold again. But Mr. Graves doesn't raise a fist to strike him, doesn't even look angry. Frustration flickers across those eyes, fear too, but not anger.   
  
"I know, I know," Mr. Graves whispers.   
Shame colours his tone with a bitter tinge, his face pulling like some thought sits badly in his mouth. _It's different_ , a demon supplies, curling up on Credence's shoulder and tugging on his earlobe.   
  
This is _different._  
  
"It's different," Mr. Graves echoes, as if he can hear Credence's thoughts now too. Maybe he can. Credence shudders at the thought and Mr. Graves pulls him into a hug, must think that Credence is shivering from the cold or something. He isn't cold. He's shivering because what if Mr. Graves can hear about the unspeakable things Credence does at night when no one is awake? The shame and worry roils in his belly, but Credence crushes it down and nuzzles into Mr. Graves' embrace, enjoys the touch while it lasts.   
  
"Please, let me find you somewhere though," Graves says again, "You can't stay there. I can find you a nice apartment, a job. I'll pay for it, but you can't stay there... You can't let her do this to you."   
  
_I don't let her do anything_ , Credence wants to say, _I deserve it._ He doesn't say that.   
Instead, he says, "But Modesty."   
  
Sweet Modesty who crawls into his bed at night to cuddle, because she's only little and still gets nightmares.   
  
"... And Chastity."   
  
Chastity who takes the kitchen knife when she thinks no one is looking and draws lines across her wrists, and then her calves when Ma catches her and beats her bloody. His sisters, if by love (and he does love them) and not by blood. His sisters who he can't leave, not now not ever, because if he does then no one will stand between them and Ma. Credence may be broken and foul, Ma can beat the wickedness from him all she wants, but he will always get up and stand for them. Even if it's sin. Even if they've done wrong. Credence won't let Ma hurt them.   
  
"I can't," Credence mumbles finally, "I can't leave."   
  
Mr. Graves sighs again, resigned, unhappy, maybe disappointed.   
  
"Alright," he murmurs, "Alright."   
  
Mr. Graves holds him even more tightly for a moment, rocking back and forth on his heels, swaying them both side to side. He cards a big hand through the mess of Credence's hair in a fatherly way, ruffling it. Credence wrinkles his nose and pulls away to smooth his hair back down. That draws a laugh from his companion, the sorrow easing in his eyes for a moment. Credence manages to give him a wee smile in return. Mr. Graves takes him by both shoulders now, holding Credence at arms length, looking him in the eye. His gaze settles over Credence like a ten ton weight, but he bears it because it's Mr. Graves and Credence wants every memory before he goes away.   
  
"I have to go to Europe," Mr. Graves says, "For a few weeks. I'll be back in late November. I'll come back and find you, I promise."   
  
It's October 30th tomorrow. Mr. Graves will be gone a whole month.   
  
The demon nibbling on Credence's earlobe laughs a soft and eerie laugh, slithering down his spine and disappearing to sit deep in his belly. It curls up like a cat for a nap, dissipating into his bloodstream moments later. It makes him nauseous. Credence fights down the feeling, nodding, biting his lip. A whole month without Mr. Graves.   
  
"You'll come back?"   
  
"I promise," Mr. Graves says.   
  
He presses a quick kiss to Credence's forehead before pulling away entirely, stepping back a few paces. Getting ready to disappear.   
  
"Take care of yourself, Credence."   
  
There's a whorl of space and time and magic, a deafening crack and Credence is left alone in the alley.   
  
"You too," he says to the empty air. 

* * *

Mr. Graves comes back, but he isn't as before. He's sharp and sultry and his magic flares instead of crackles. All razor sharp edges and white light instead of growling power and shadows. He says he hit his head in Europe, says he's stressed and tired and busy and Credence thinks he's lying, but who is he to know?

* * *

Credence knows Graves is lying. And then when he is only a shadow of his former self, staring at a witch with a funny wrap on her head and dark skin, Credence understands Graves wasn't Graves at all. He doesn't know if that makes him feel better or worse.

* * *

The door to Credence's cell opens, dull steel walls sliding apart and letting someone inside. The figure that steps into the cold little world Credence has known for the past weeks is one he thought he'd never see again. He's different than he was before. In his short life, Credence has known three versions of Graves. The one he met on a street corner in early October, gentle and quiet and serious; the one he'd found in late November, roiling with stress and anger and barely constrained power, whispering silky promises like a spider, and this one.   
  
This one whose hair is a little too long and who has more stress lines, who has spider silk thin scars like lightning marks down his face and neck, who is wearing his fearsome coat and a strange expression. This one who exudes worry and exhaustion and a body deep relief Credence feels in his marrow. This isn't a fake, this isn't someone else wearing Graves' skin, this is him. And he is irrevocably different. "Mr. Graves," Credence breathes, uncurling on his too small bunk, forcing cold and stiff muscles to move.   
  
"Credence," Graves whispers, voice high and tight and so, so relieved, "Come with me."   
  
He extends a hand. The marks flow down his wrist too. Over Graves' shoulder, Credence can make out familiar faces; Mr. Scamander and Ms. Goldstein and the blond lady, and the plump jolly fella too. They watch with anticipation. Ms. Goldstein is crying, wringing her hands for a moment before she spots him looking and makes a come here motion.   
  
"Come with me, Credence," Graves begs.   
  
His hand shakes.   
  
Credence thinks it has something to do with those marks for some reason. Credence pushes himself off the bed, limping the short distance across the frigid floor to yank Graves into a tight hug. The man shakes against him, whispering words in Latin and what Credence thinks might be old Gaelic into his shoulder. A warmth spreads over both of them, some charm that brings blood back into Credence's feet and banishes the chill in his bones.   
  
"Alright," he says, echoing what Mr. Graves said all that time ago, "Alright."   
  
They leave that awful place, Credence and Graves and his new friends, and Credence never looks back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment telling me what you think or come scream at me on tumblr. I reside at luminis-infinite@tumblr.com.


End file.
